


Timeless

by Lycoriseum



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycoriseum/pseuds/Lycoriseum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love has a time and place. Some don't occur in one lifetime, but the next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timeless

The first time you cross paths, it is in the middle of a media circus.

You put the sunglasses on just before the heavy wooden doors parted, revealing the swarm of reporters going wild when they catch sight of your client. They close in the moment Frederic Burns takes his first step outside. The boldest of bloodhounds are at the head of the mob, shoving their mics right past the police's shoulders and into Fred's face, shouting questions that will not be answered. The rest settle for filming from afar. Photographers wield their cameras like soldiers with rifles, fingers squeezing relentlessly on triggers, capturing Fred's likeness to publish with headline articles the next morning.

The sea of camera flashes bounces off your sunglasses, and you feel thankful that Fred is walking ahead. Almost no attention is paid to his entourage trailing behind. Your mentor taps your shoulder and points her thumb at the courthouse's car park. _"I'm gonna bail,"_ Tanya mouths, and hurries off the moment you nod. You have no luxury of flying away in your car. It broke down last week, and is still in the auto shop. So you follow in your client's footsteps, waiting for a gap to appear in the crowd for you to slip through.

Fred is finally escorted to the police car, and the wolves close in mercilessly, desperate to get a final shot before he disappears. They pay no heed to one another, crushing themselves to get even a sliver of a scoop. That's when you see her.

One reporter, her body too small to withstand the crushing force of the mob, gets pushed out the back. She trips on her own feet and falls towards the pavement. You run over to her, but it is too late. She lands on the concrete shoulder-first. No one takes notice.

Kneeling beside her, you set down your briefcase to help her up. You notice that her hands are still wrapped around something at her middle. When you pull her into a sitting position, you discover that they are cradling an expensive-looking camera, like a mother with her young. Amusement curls your lips; these reporters sure do have their priorities straight.

She spends half a minute checking the camera for damage, before looking up at you. Something in those deep green eyes pierce through your tinted glasses and holds you fast. You feel something deep within you stir. Magnetic. Compelling. It takes but a second to envelope your soul. A force that pulls you forward. But where, you do not know. Your mind is at a standstill. Your stare is returned with equal wonder.

_"Ma'am? Are you all right?"_

A policeman, one of Fred's guard, stands next to you. You pull your eyes away to look up at his concerned expression, and reality floods into your being again. You nod and turn back to the reporter – who you are still clutching onto – and help her up.

Some of the wolves hear the police's voice and turn, their eyes sparkling with recognition upon noticing you. Suddenly, you feel like prey. A baby rabbit about to be cornered and eaten.

_"Miss Vaughn! Tell us, what are the chances of–"_

A short car horn catches your attention just as the flood of questions pour in. You turn towards the car and relax when you recognise it as Nate's. Picking up your briefcase, you circle the crowd with the help of the policeman and finally reach the car. The man opens the door for you, with one arm flung out to hold the reporters at bay. You give him a nod before you close the door, and return Nate's warm smile.

As the car pulls away from the ravenous crowd, something makes you look at the rearview mirror. You catch sight of the feminine figure. Her gaze feels as if it is still looking straight at you, even though you know she is too far away for that to be the case.

You tuck that odd encounter into the back of your mind, though, as your boyfriend strikes up a conversation. In that moment, you do not notice that a miniscule piece of your soul has gone missing.

* * *

You see her around the courthouse again, a few more times as the murder trial drags on forevermore. She is at almost every session, paying close attention to the proceedings like you should be instead of focusing on her. At times she wears a small cap that hides her eyes every time she looks down to scribble in her notebook. You appreciate that cap whenever you are at centre stage. That gaze almost makes you forget your train of thought on a few occasions. But other times, you prefer it off. The focus that shines through her eyes during the proceedings tickles you. And each time you make eye contact, you break it off quickly. It gives you a curious sensation, something that gravitates you towards her, and leaves a slowly widening gap in your being each time you resist it.

Once, she manages to catch you while court is in recess. She has a voice recorder at ready as she pelts you with question after accusing question about the case. _Is Frederic Burns truly as innocent as you make him out to be? How can you ignore such concrete evidence and spin tales out of them? How does it feel to defend a murderer with your entire being? Do you truly care about the law? Or are you willing to twist the truth in order to emerge victorious?_

Her size belies the ferocity that burns within her. You are taken aback, even more so when you realise how much effort it took to pull yourself away from her. Despite her aggressiveness, you still feel compelled to stay, to determine what it is that you feel you see in her. She is a mystery that you cannot read, try as you might.

So you start lingering in more accessible areas during recess. Private places that the public could still enter. Some days, she finds you and resumes her usual line of questioning. Behaving not unlike you while in cross-examination. One time, you smile unconsciously, and it rubs her the wrong way. She calls you a viper like all the other lawyers in your firm, and stalks off. You want to catch her before she leaves, but you stop yourself. The pull stretches, taut and straining, and finally breaks when the door slams behind her.

You feel the yawning chasm in your soul grow wider.

* * *

The next time you see her, it is in the police station.

You have just had two long, consecutive meetings with two different clients. 'Exhausted' does not begin to describe how you are feeling. The prolonged nature of the Burns case was starting to wear on you, when these two cases were dumped into your lap. Part of you misses Nate, who has been deployed for god knows how long. The man always knew what to do to ease the pressure on your shoulders, even if it is just for a moment.

The ache between your temples grows louder when you think of him. Worry and fear for his life returns to you twofold. You feel on the verge of tears, but your tear ducts have run dry more than a month ago.

Then a small commotion attracts your attention as you draw near the entrance. The thought of Nate is pushed down when you see her, thunder brewing in her eyes and handcuffs around her wrists. She is glaring at another man – you recognise him as an important client of a rival firm – who is spouting curse after curse at her and the police. He demands that they get the handcuffs off him, that he did no wrong. That _she_ is the one they should be locking up behind bars.

She returns his venom with her own, and the officers separate them as soon as possible. As she is led to an interrogation room, she notices you. Her eyes narrow and her lips press together, before she is led past you.

You stand still for a moment, an idea forming in your mind. It is thoroughly needless and stupid, you know. You already have a hell of a workload. But something pushes you forward, and you do not resist. You ask around, learning more about her situation, and finally volunteer yourself as her legal representative.

When you enter her interrogation room, she looks up at you, surprised. You give her a smile and take a seat opposite hers. She asks what you are doing here, her voice rough and ready to raise hell at the slightest nudge. You reply that you are now her legal representative. She ripostes and says she does not need one.

_"But you do. That man is a powerful one – I'm sure you already know. He is threatening to sue you for harassment and assault."_

_"Tell me something I don't know."_

_"He is a big-shot client of Marlow & Hall. The law firm that is rival to the one I'm working for. Let me tell you – when he starts a lawsuit, he does not stop until he wins. If he takes action against you, I'd recommend you start bidding your job and house goodbye."_

She remains silent, staring at you. You recognise that she is trying to read you, and you let her. If you cannot identify what it is that draws you to her, maybe she can.

As it turns out, she cannot. Her gaze drops in defeat, and her hands clasp together in worry.

_"And you can help me?"_

_"Yes. And since I did drop in on you without notice,"_ the words slip past your lips before you can process them, _"I will do this for you, pro bono."_

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you cannot help but smile.

_"Doesn't seem like something a 'viper' would do, does it?"_

She blushes.

* * *

Her name is Grace Watson, and she does receive a lawyer's letter within the week.

It is difficult at first – the man she offended is a hot-head – but you manage to settle it out of court, with no money involved. She gets a warning to never get near the man again, and she is forced to promise. After you are shown out of the opulent office, you ask her if she wants to have dinner together.

_"You know, to celebrate?"_

She chews her lip and finally relents with a nod and smile. You cannot help but notice the warmth that floods your chest the moment she acquiesced.

So you spend dinner at a café, and you get to know each other better. She has a single-mom, and an older sister. She became a reporter with _The Vox_ , because they are the only ones who are not churning out government propaganda, day after day. Despite being treated as pariahs by most other news agencies, she enjoys her work and does not regret her chosen career path.

You avoid telling her about your job – no need to give her more reason to hate you. Instead, you tell her a little about your family, and eventually Nate. Then the floodgates break open, and you lay on her your worry for him. How you have nightmares about his dead body. How the doorbell instills fear in you, as it may herald the news of Nate's demise. She shares your resentment for the war, and lays her hand over your clenched fist.

The two of you stay like that, seconds stretching to minutes as the feeling of belonging anchors you. A small, almost-inaudible voice in your head tells you this is where you are meant to be. But as you meet her curious gaze, filled with the same wonder blooming within you, you realise that it is not.

Your subconscious chimes in a _not yet_ , but it slips your mind. All you can think of, is how she is willing to fight the tide to bring the truth to the people. And how you have no qualms about twisting laws and words for sake of your career and money. You are too different. And this is not the time, nor the place.

The ride home is quiet, almost unsettlingly so. As you turn into the driveway of her house in the dead of night, a heavy air hangs over the both of you. You know, in the pit of your stomach, that a chapter is about to come to a close.

You turn to her, but cannot find the words. She smiles, as though she can read your mind. Grace leans in, and places a lingering kiss on your cheek. Then she bids you good night, and steps out of the car.

That is the last time you see her.

* * *

A year later, Nate returns, and you cry into his shoulder as he sweeps you up into a crushing hug. For the first time in a long while, you feel secure. Not empty anymore. He wipes your tears away with a calloused hand, swearing that he will never leave your side again. You make him seal that promise with a searing kiss.

Five months later, he gets down on one knee and proposes. You have the wedding two months later, feeling your life fall into place as you exchange vows at the altar, Nate's adoring gaze never leaving you.

Another year later, you get pregnant and it is Nate's turn to cry. He holds you in his arms and whispers _"I love you"_ over and over. You quit your hectic job and settle into a new life as a housewife.

That's when you remember.

You try to put it in the back of your mind at first. But it keeps surfacing, and you finally try to find out where Grace is. It does not take long. One call to her news agency tells you that she became a war correspondent. It was something she became bent on, and she was deployed about six months before. You ask if she is still in the field.

They tell you she had been killed in action.

The call ends with a hollow _"thank you"_  and you sit back, trying to absorb the news. Your heart, the portion that belonged to Grace two years before and was glued back by Nate upon his return, breaks off again. In your tearless grief, you do not keep track of where it falls. You never recover it. The emptiness returns, and you try to live as though it does not exist.

Times does not heal all wounds. But it helps to make you forget, and Shaun's arrival pushes everything else into the background. His promise of a future intertwines with that faint, ever-existent pull driving you forward, and you go on living. Even though you are not entirely aware of all that you are living for.

* * *

Ever since you emerged from the Vault, there is something that keeps you going through the post-nuclear wasteland. You do not know what it is, but it grows stronger and stronger the closer you get to Diamond City. The very night you arrive at the city's gates, your stomach is tied up in knots. You think that you are sick, that you should get to a doctor the moment you step into the city. But when you finally arrive at its doorsteps, the feeling implodes.

It is curious. The implosion is peaceful. Calm. Your nerves dissipate when the woman – Piper, as the guard calls her through the intercom – turns her attention to you. You catch a glimpse of her eyes, a deeply familiar shade of green, but you cannot put a finger on where you have seen them before. The oppressive weight of Shaun's kidnap and Nate's death still sits on you, drowning all voices from the past.

You help Piper get past the gates, and witness her butt heads with the Mayor. Then she drags you into the argument, asks if you support the press.

You don't. At least, before the bombs fell. The press has to be responsible, in your opinion. Release information in appropriate doses, not give in to sensationalism. You have been victim to the press more than a few times as lawyer to a few high-profile criminals. The press does not have a very good standing in your mind.

But you surprise yourself and agree with her. You have no idea why. Yet another action compelled by the same, inexorable pull that led you to Diamond City, something more benign than your need to find Shaun.

At your words, the Mayor's face darkens, but Piper's brightens up. She tosses a smirk your way, and you find that you do not regret what you just said. It feels…right.

You do not notice it in that moment, but the subtle tug on your soul disappears. A surreal feeling of tranquility sets in and Piper invites you to spend a night in her home, after learning about your situation.

It is the safest you have felt since you left the Vault.

* * *

The tranquility is shaken up again the more you travel with Piper. You start noticing her little quirks and habits. Your eyes linger on her longer than you mean to. Sometimes she catches your eye and you quickly look away, as the sense of déjà vu grips you again. You don't understand it. Piper used to help you feel stable. Now you feel antsy, your heart a maelstrom when she is close.

You chalk it up to the crush you have on her. You find yourself wanting to hold her, to run your hand through her hair, to kiss her until her lips leave an imprint on your soul. But you hold yourself back, unsure if it is too early, or if Piper would return your feelings. So you settle for just being close, and pay more attention to her. You carry the bulk of the load that you share. You support her when she gets into her reporter phase and butts heads to get to the core of a story.

You let Piper mould you into a different person. One who cares more fiercely, who would do anything to help those in need. One who allows herself to _feel_ more frequently. Codsworth notices this change in you first and points it out, smartly attributing the change to Piper. You agree and tell him that you like it. He replies that he likes it too, says that you seem much happier than you were in the pre-war days – no offense to dear old Sir, of course.

After that, you stop holding back so much. You start with small, innocent touches. Holding her hand to help her down a tall ledge. Cleaning dirt smudges off her face after a battle. Piper does not seem to mind. In fact, she starts to reciprocate as well. The two of you grow closer, and you are aware of the fact that your heart has calmed again.

One night, you sit around the campfire, full from dinner. Dogmeat provides some entertainment by chewing the tentacles off the toy alien you gave him a few days ago. You smile to yourself – musing over the fact that you finally found the dog you always wanted. It kind of seems like fate. You throw that word around in your head, before tossing it to the side. Fate only exists in fiction, right?

Piper's presence drives out your train of thought. You watch as she takes a seat next to you, and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. Something clicks in your mind and you stare at her, wondering what it is that makes you feel this way. Déjà vu again. But you leave that mental exercise for another time. Piper leans her head on your shoulder, and you wrap an arm around her, keeping her close.

* * *

Then one random morning, you jolt awake. You had a nightmare about a reporter from your past, watched her get blown to pieces by a stray artillery strike. Sitting there in your sleeping bag, you try to remember her face, her name. But you cannot. The nightmare trickles from your mind like water in a leaky tub. You try to cling onto the details, but they disappear faster the more you concentrate. When it is gone, you are left with your head in your hands, the ghost of a void reappearing within you.

Slowly, you drop your hands, letting the sunshine caress your face through the window of the abandoned house you took refuge in for the night. Exhaling shakily, you reach out to the left, only to find Piper's sleeping bag empty. Panic descends upon you as you leap up and run down the stairs in your bare feet. You hear the clinking of metal against porcelain, and make a beeline for the kitchen.

There she is, still in her sleepwear but with her coat on, holding a pan over the plates you found in the house the night before. She looks up at you, surprised, taking in your disheveled state and your wide-eyed stare. Sensing something amiss, she sets the pan down and walks over to you, asking if you are all right.

Your bottom lip trembles but you hold the deluge of emotions in. Wrapping both arms around her, you pull her into a tight embrace. She wraps her arms around you too, whispering _"It's okay."_ Your breaths come in shaky bursts. You squeeze your eyes shut and bury your face in her neck.

As you calm down, you realise Piper is right. It _is_ okay.

You finally are where you belong.

* * *

 

 **A/N:** Another attempt at deviating from my usual style. Tell me what you think!

* * *

 


End file.
